


i wanna go out with a bang

by orphan_account



Category: Fall Out Boy
Genre: Suicide
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-16
Updated: 2016-07-16
Packaged: 2018-07-24 10:54:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 402
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7505476
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Patrick just posted "We liked you better fat" and he has a few thoughts in mind.</p>
            </blockquote>





	i wanna go out with a bang

**Author's Note:**

> god im so sorry but heavy tw for suicide and minor ones for weight and shit

He was tired out by when he finished writing it. He was really sorry, and he might have stained his keyboard with tears as he wrote the thousand words-long post. He wanted to be what they wanted him to be. He really, really did. But he knew the eighteen-year-old, the Take This To Your Grave kid, wasn't coming back anytime soon. 

He was not much more than a has-been. A twenty seven-year-old has-been. _How pathetic_ , he sighed as he laid on his back in his bed, trying not to think about people's reactions to what he wrote. There wasn't much people that cared now, anyway, so why should he expect for people to _react_ to it? 

Folie à Deux hadn't been a success. Soul Punk hadn't been one, either. They both had been hated quite gravely, and he was just tired. He wanted to go. He wanted to leave, to make all the people that hated him and his job happy for fucking once. 

He almost laughed when he suddenly thought of a lyric of his own. _And if this is it, I wanna go out with a bang_. Oh God, he was so fucked up. He didn't even have a gun. Why would he? He could easily get one, though, and it'd most certainly kill him. Gun laws weren't the best in the United States. 

He didn't have a thick skull. At all. Hate pierced him like bullets. Maybe that's why the first time someone mentioned how fat he was in front of him, during a meet and greet, he broke down crying. Maybe that's why he always felt like shit whenever his work got called awful. Even though he knew, he knew he was an awful singer, a talentless excuse of a human being. 

By the next day, he didn't do much besides going out to get a gun, the cheapest one he could find. He didn't want to write a suicide note; he knew it'd be just one big, stupid apology for being terrible, and that he'd end up burning it before he even got the guts to end his life. 

So he didn't write a suicide note, and just pulled the fucking trigger, his brains splattering the walls in a matter of a second. One thought brushed every bit of his conscience before he died. 

_They liked you better fat_ , it said, over and over and over again. 


End file.
